


(Eli’s) Siren Call

by orphan_account



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Dub-Con Child Molestation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Possessive Ocelot, Semi-Rapist Eli!, serial killings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Eli develops some questionable methods in his efforts to finally take revenge against his father.
Relationships: Diamond Dog Soldiers/Liquid Snake, Liquid Snake/Ocelot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	(Eli’s) Siren Call

**Author's Note:**

> I did not read through this very well so if there’s any mistakes... etc
> 
> Enjoy~

It would seem Mother Base has a serial killer. 

It’s no surprise to anyone that bodies would pile up— alive or dead, a few duds in the stack are expected, _natural_ , even, considering the sheer amount of recruits Diamond Dogs have had an influx of, as of late. 

An illness would spur that on too, a _virus_ , permeating death as naturally as new life. It’s not much of a shocker all around, everything considered. 

The only unforeseen factor making it all so precarious is the simple fact that it tends to revolve around one, measly little child. 

Eli, or, as he would have it— _The White Mamba._

It is… a rather laughable title considering his build and stature, the fact that he’s not _exactly_ of the more frail persuasion but certainly pint-sized, enough so to never be perceived as a threat. He’s almost alluring in that sense, in the way that he is a sort of breath of fresh air, a passive, domestic change of scenery compared to the natural air of _violent_ and _hard_ and _rough_. Reminds one of a city, full of children, not soldiers. 

Not to say that Eli— or The White Mamba— can’t be any of those things, he’s just certainly not seen as such. He’s almost… innocent, by default. 

What child could kill a man just as soon as look at him? 

If there were ever a place on earth to find one so willing, it would certainly be _somewhere_ around Diamond Dogs’ play area, their vicinity exuding an aura of tainted and taboo, less than civilized as militant and uncaring to social and political correctness as it is. It’s got it’s fair share of filth and that’s possibly what makes it so successful. 

So— again, nobody bats _much_ of an eye when bodies start to mount up. 

Though it does create a _lot_ of paperwork, just the kind that all the wrong people end up filling out. 

But Eli couldn’t kill, could he? A child fresh out of the jungle, fidgety and fumbling with being a maladjust in what most in his predicament would label a prison-island, out at sea with no one to lead nor fall back on. Ocelot’s been cozying up to him but that’s to be expected… he takes care of the kids, what’s another feisty one to make a difference? 

So it’s pure coincidence when Eli’s hair strands are left at the scene of the crimes, sometimes shreds of his clothing too. When the crime is perpetrated, it’s often out of sight, secluded enough that no one quite hears anything. Though some recollect— very _briefly_ — hearing a child’s scream. Of fright, no doubt. 

With the boss so busy, the only one who seems to be interested in it _at all_ is Kazuhira. After writing off the biggest batch of recruits MB has seen lately as suspects— the children from Africa, Eli being one of them— and reading some files and getting a feel for the killer’s tactics, where he chooses to act and on whom— the whys of such a complete mystery still, unfortunately— Kaz decided he would do what it seemed no one else was willing to do. He would investigate and find the killer and stop innocent, good men from being murdered. Even if no one was apparently interested. 

He started that endeavor… three weeks ago? There’s been no headway thus far….

  
“He’s got to have some kind of— of pattern.” Kaz takes a frantic sip from his mug of coffee and sits back in his chair, exasperated. “No man does this much killing for this long without leaving behind— I don’t know… _some_ notion as to _why_.”

He picks up a file describing the peculiarities of the most recent deaths, as well as depicting a rather gruesome image of a man strung up by his neck on the railing of a platform, his pants _down_. Just looking at it obviously makes him sick as he grimaces and waves it towards the man in front of him. 

“Am I missing something?” He gives the file a quick look before shoving it back across the desk, this time sliding it entirely. “Maybe you should give it a read. A pair of fresh eyes could certainly help.” 

A rather unwilling Ocelot leans against Kaz’ desk, probing the file laden with an official _Diamond Dog_ stamp at its front. He shakes his head, disinterested. “I don’t know what to tell you.” He slides it back to Kaz. 

The two men both lean into their own casual thought processes, neither of which similar in contents but both of which acknowledging the other— particularly Kaz and his almost _fearful_ determination. 

Ocelot clears his throat. “If you fear for your own safety that much, then—“

“It’s not _me_ I’m worried about.” Kaz glares up at Ocelot through his shades, interrupting. “I’m worried about my _men_ , Ocelot, the ones that keep dying. Surely you don’t think I’d make this about me?” 

Ocelot shrugs a shoulder, picking at his glove absently. “Didn’t say I’d come to any conclusions but if it’s safety that’s worrying you then arrangements can be made to have someone guard your office. I’d even see to it, if it made you feel better.” Ocelot offers, rather flatly given the dire context of the situation but about as caringly as _Ocelot_ would, considering he’s… Ocelot. 

Never much for sympathy but always one for routine and schedule retention, he’s never liked anyone expressing too much outside of what’s expected, certainly not over a few measly _dozen_ or so bodies. That’s normal for someone like him— a torturer, professionally, among other things and as emotionally reserved as can be— but Kaz is a bit of another story. 

“I don’t need your—! _ah_ , you know what…” Kaz sighs through his nose, too tired to protest the blatant, wrongful, though _seemingly_ heartfelt assumption. “I can take care of myself. Thank you.” 

Ocelot’s certainly not protesting when Kaz gets up and finds a steady pace with his crutch, paying no mind to the files anymore but busying himself with leaving his own office likely to investigate something or other. He stops midway to the door though, leaning on his crutch and turning to Ocelot with a scrutinizing gaze. “You know, you seem remarkably at ease about all of this.” 

“Is that a problem?” Ocelot chooses to take the comment as a passing investment in figuring out what’s what, nothing so personal. 

“It’s a problem when you start turning a blind eye to your men’s bodies piling up, yes.” Kaz responds, shifting his body to face Ocelot. “You should care about your men.” 

The assumptions behind Kaz’ words weren’t lost in translation and he _certainly_ knows what he’s implying. He wouldn’t be the first. “Who said I’d stopped caring?” Ocelot asks. 

Kaz glares at Ocelot’s standoffish approach. He’s dodged questioning as far as Kaz is concerned and it’s only made him more suspicious. “You never seemed to care in the first place, actually.”

Ocelot stands tall, pushing off of Kaz’ desk. He flashes an assuring smile that lasts no longer than the time it takes for him to get to Kaz’ side, to place a hand on his shoulder briefly. “I think all this work has made you paranoid, Miller. You should lay off for a while.” He says, friendly as can be. “For me.” 

_For you_. “Sure, maybe you’re right.” Kaz takes a shaky breath, caught off guard by Ocelot’s gesture and clearly put off by it, for reasons he can’t quite discern are even valid. “I have been a little on edge….” 

“That’s all I’m saying.” Ocelot turns back towards the desk and strides over, taking a fistful of documents. He briefly busies himself with the drawers too, fumbling around and pulling out, as far as Kaz can see, anything that pertains to the case. “I’ll hold on to these until tomorrow.” He treads past Kaz, files in possession and a hand quickly on the doorknob of the office, taking an abrupt leave. “You let me know when you’re ready for these back— just try not to dwell on it tonight.” 

With that little uncharacteristically kind gesture as a parting gift, Ocelot’s gone, leaving Kaz a confused mess of questions and not an answer in sight. _Ocelot never does that…_ if anything, he’s made Kaz even more anxious. 

  
Ocelot’s back in his own respective office with a pair of clunky headphones in hand, one earmuff turned outward so that he can listen, a wire connecting it to a box of tech whirring at high speed. 

“...don’t think you can write him off so quickly.” 

The voices that come through are garbled and distant, muffled by the mic’s far proximity and location, no doubt, though they’re unmistakably identifiable. 

“...you’re asking me to put a hell of a lot on faith here, Kaz. How can I—“ 

Static cuts the transmission prematurely. Ocelot paces a bit, grumbling to himself about   
outdated tech until a voice comes back into earshot, barely. 

“...not saying he’s to blame but— boss, he’s the only linking factor in any of these cases I can find. I feel—“ 

Brief static again, and a curse from Ocelot. 

“...going crazy trying to figure out what’s going on. Nobody is doing anything about this and—“

“Damn it.” Ocelot sighs, shaking the headphones. He leans over and adjusts a dial on the cluster of tech resembling a common, household radio. Voices rise up again. 

“...look into what I can but I won’t promise anything. He isn’t some lackey soldier. Being around the scene doesn’t mean he’s the killer.” 

“...know but he’s—“ Kaz’ voice halts, and Ocelot’s sure it isn’t interference. “Innocent until proven guilty, yes, but indulge me here, boss. Just because he’s—“ 

“...I’ll think about it. Huey’s done enough blame-shifting as it is, Kaz. The last thing I need is my _own men_ turning on each other or grasping at nothing to justify accusations.” 

“...sure, boss.” Ocelot can hear Kaz’ sigh. “I understand.”

The unsteady feed cuts out entirely. Ocelot does what he can with what little surveillance tech knowledge he has but relents to assuming he’s got all the information he needs. 

_So it’s like that, huh Kaz, sending the boss after me._

Ocelot’s had people accuse him of many things, manslaughter being quite possibly the very lowest on the list. He’s no stranger to this game of evasion and blame-shifting and overall ass-covering. He just isn’t about to let kindhearted Kaz’ morals get the better of him. Kaz certainly isn’t to blame for his concern, and Ocelot doesn’t fault him for it, but he shouldn’t worry about things that go on in the behind closed doors— what’s controlled by others. 

The last thing Ocelot’s willing to deal with right now is heat on his ass. He’ll make sure the well-meant Kaz is diverted, even if he has to give up some… more _entertaining_ hobbies on the side. 

Ocelot grabs the files and unpacks them all from their respective manila envelopes, and with another hand, fishes through a drawer for a bottle with paper-color paste in it. He finds a few damning lines of evidence and a brush and starts pasting over the few that matter but could be easily overlooked. By the end of the night, he’s got files far less incriminating, but still… it’s unfortunate that he’ll have to relent from certain peculiar hobbies. It’s all in the name of saving his own ass, so it’s warranted, but it is such a disappointment. For more reasons than need explaining. 

He’s planning on leaving the mic he planted in Kaz’ desk drawer alone for now, though. Never a resource wasted with Ocelot. Kaz wouldn’t be the only one to have his own little ear in the room but if things go as planned henceforth, he _should_ be the last. 

Ocelot pours himself a drink at his desk, cautious as not to spill whiskey on the carefully-altered files, peering over his hard work. A smirk slips through in satisfaction. He takes a self-rewarding swig. 

_Here’s hoping._

  
Ocelot knocks on Kaz’ office door, and steps in upon hearing a faint and tired ‘ _enter_ ’ from the other side. 

He waves the individual folders and envelopes stacked together in one hand towards Kaz, who’s at his desk as per usual. “Just stopping by to return those files of yours.” He says casually. He places them on Kaz’ desk, who only watches as he moves. 

“Yes I… assumed you were.” He says, almost purposefully sounding unsure, even to Ocelot. 

“I said I would, so I am.” Ocelot responds flatly. 

Kaz eyes him, his tone quickly filling with agitation. “You say a lot of things.” 

Ocelot blinks at him. He’s unsure of where to take this or even if _Kaz_ knows where he wants it to go but he isn’t about to escalate things, not now and not with Kaz. “Should I not—“ 

“Ocelot—“ Kaz interrupts him, waving his hand in gesture for him to stop. “I wanted to apologize. For last night. My accusations were a bit… baseless, and I won’t pretend that I was justified in grilling you so hard.” 

Ocelot gives him a quick smile. If Kaz had any idea how often this happens, he wouldn’t find himself apologizing so cordially. “I understand. No need for apologies, Miller.” 

“I’m just… tired, is all.” Kaz rubs his face under his sunglasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and betraying the faintest glimpse of milk-white irises. “I hope you can understand I meant nothing by it.” 

Ocelot wills a subtle smile, a formality given the situation. “Of course.” He concurs. “That’s all that I was saying last night. I’m glad you didn’t take it any further than that. I know tensions can be high around here and men turning on each other is always an unfortunate side effect of things like this.” He tugs the taught fabric of his scarf around his neck, pulling at it absently in thought. “I take it I have your trust, then.”

That would be enough of a hint to give it away to Ocelot, were roles reversed. But they aren’t reversed and the ball’s in Kaz’ less perceptive field now, and it’s his job to relent or toss it back. His move. 

“Yes… I would.. rather we not discuss the killings anymore. They’re— I think the killer is something I have to deal with.” His face is lined with worry, obviously agonizing over something that has _nothing_ to do with him and yet everything he’s _willing_ to involve himself with. “It’s just a shame I…” 

Ocelot cocks his head to the side. “Go on.” 

Kaz stares at his own hand on the desk ashamedly. “Oh, I just…” He puts his head in his hand and rubs the worry-lines. “I let my own paranoia get the better of me. I assumed it was _you_ when—“ he rifles through folders and pulls out a certain paper, his voice rising in pitch as he skims over it and shoves it into Ocelot’s view, “It's so obvious who it is, I can’t… I should have realized sooner. I suppose I just didn’t want to believe it.” 

Ocelot squints at him. This _can’t_ be good. “Elaborate.”

“Even now, reading through it— you can see here,” he points a finger at a paragraph and flashes it towards Ocelot as if he can read _that_ fast, “He’s the only linking factor I’ve been able to find. I even talked to the boss about it last night—“ 

“Miller,” Ocelot begins, “Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet.” Ocelot _assumed_ Kaz’ queries had been revealing a suspicion that Ocelot was the killer, and perhaps he was briefly correct, but on the off-chance he misinterpreted anything…. “Who exactly are you saying did this?” 

Kaz’ shaken exterior looks wracked with what Ocelot can only assume is mortified fear, more afraid that he _has_ come to an accusable identity than not. He shakes his head and takes a long sip of his coffee. “I shouldn’t.” 

Playing coy never did anything for anyone but waste time. Ocelot chuckles. “I’m not much of a gossiper these days, Miller. You can tell me.” 

Kaz peers up at him silently through tinted frames before leaning back and pulling open his desk drawer. Ocelot’s breath hitches almost reflexively, realizing which one and what it secretly holds. After some digging, Kaz returns with another file entirely— one of many personnel briefings. This one’s got a familiar face on it. He hands it directly to Ocelot. “Have a look.” He mutters, rather despairingly. 

“Oh. I see.” 

“You think I should collect him now or wait? The evidence is… stacked staggeringly high against him.” 

“I, uh…” Words don’t often fail Ocelot, and when they do, they’re always quick to return and never for a lack of someone else’s stupidity. This one takes the cake in regards to surprise. 

“Eli. He’s… he's just a child, I know but— this isn’t above him, I know it isn’t.” Kaz stammers over himself as if he’s fishing for assurance. As if Ocelot would provide that. “I shouldn’t have suspected him so quickly after you but he was always in the back of my mind. Those kids we brought… they’re hardened, not like normal children. This isn’t that much of a step beyond pointing a gun at a commanding officer.” Which is something they _both_ know he’s done before, among other things. 

Ocelot flaps the blurry little snapshot of Eli like it’s the real deal, wringing out the guilt from the kid’s scowling face half-cocked towards the camera. It appears Ocelot _did_ misread the situation, then. At least the accusations aren’t being thrust at him anymore. But Eli….

Ocelot quirks a brow and hands the photo back. “You said you have evidence?” 

“Just take a look at the files— _all_ of them.” He scatters a few across the desk, plucking and tossing until he finds a few particularly incriminating ones. “See for yourself.” 

Ocelot grabs and skims. “DNA samples at the scene, shreds of clothing, a shoe. Miller,” Ocelot begins, worrying his lip between his teeth, “This could have been self-defense. He _is_ a child after all, and these men are more than capable of fending off just one kid. They could’ve been inebriated, dosed with _something_ at least. I hate to say it, but I would suspect they had ulterior motives. Why else would a child do something so gruesome if not out of panic?” 

Kaz’ eyes are blown wide. He blinks at Ocelot and seems to file all of that away, resuming in protest as not to falter when he’s _just_ on the cusp of solving this series of mystery-killings that have been plaguing him for weeks now. “No, Ocelot he’s— why would there be so many repeated instances then? This wasn’t an isolated incident, it was multiple killings, each more gruesome than the last. No child does that out of fear.” 

“No _normal_ child does that out of fear.” Ocelot counter-points, tactfully. “You said it yourself,” he tosses the files back on the desk, “He’s dangerous and fresh out of a war zone. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was his way of processing a traumatic event. Putting that possibility aside though, our men could be the ones instigating it. He _is_ still a boy.” 

Kaz looks from Ocelot to the files and then to his lap, his head spinning with these new and previously unconsidered possibilities. If Ocelot’s right and Eli is just defending himself, then how would that look on him for so readily accusing a child of baseless manslaughter? _This isn’t good…_ “Ocelot,” Kaz looks up at him pleadingly, “What do you think is going on? Is Eli really to blame for this?” 

Ocelot takes a deep sigh, one deeper than necessary but one that’s much needed to feign the level of undecidedness he’s aiming for. “I oversee these kids. The worst thing they’ve done is scatter thumbtacks outside my office door. Eli is their leader and, to be frank, I can’t see him doing something like this for no good reason without unifying what little of his ‘ _army_ ’ we brought back with him. He has to have an alibi that fits, this isn’t him.” 

That’s seemingly all it takes for Kaz to back off. Eli is probably the most intense child he’s ever seen, certainly the most dangerous if not just for his experience in the field at such a young age then for the fact that he clearly thrives off of power and status. His title— The White Mamba— wasn’t, to most people’s knowledge, a name he made for himself but one he took, one that was _given_ to him. He’s a snake, regardless of his size. Kaz can’t forget that. 

But if Ocelot is willing to stick his neck out and be the voice of reason like this… there must be some merit to his claims of Eli’s innocence. It would surprise Kaz but stranger things have happened. 

“I don’t know what Eli is and I don’t want to know unless it’s the solid truth.” Kaz sits back, defeated. “I just can’t figure it out on my own. God, I’m— I was biased. I should’ve let someone else take over. I should have asked you sooner rather than assume.” 

Disregarding that palpable admission of guilt that’s almost entirely misplaced, Ocelot waves him off. “Let me talk to him. I’ll get his side of the story.” 

“Just don’t wait too long.” Kaz insists. “We can’t have another victim, not if you’re keen on proving his innocence. It would just complicate things.” 

“Of course.” Ocelot agrees placidly, resigning his faux-enthusiasm to seek out the truth now that kaz’ appetite for justice is somewhat sated. Things are still for now, and at the very least, _he_ isn’t on the suspect list. He just hadn’t assumed _Eli_ would be next runner-up. 

As Ocelot turns to take his leave, Kaz calls to him. “Ocelot— when or _if_ you find out what those men did… you make sure they feel the sting of Diamond Dog justice. These killings… they can’t have been for nothing.” 

Ocelot nods at him over his shoulder and steps out, bidding a quiet “I’ll do my best, Miller.” 

  
Two soldiers bearing Diamond Dog patches and army-green outfits stand on a secluded platform which— if anyone would pay enough attention, is _all_ they do. Just standing. Mother Base _is_ a quiet place….

“Five bucks says you won’t piss on her.” 

“What? Are you— no, no. You see what she did to the last guy that tried that? I’m not a dumbass.” The soldier replies sternly. “Just look at her.” 

They both peer down at a cell beyond chainlink and metal bars, everything around it locked tight beyond a staircase that only those in charge— the boss, Ocelot, Kazuhira, to name a few— have access to. A rather _quiet_ woman showing far too much skin with dark eyes stares back up at them from her cell. 

“Sheesh….”

“Yeah, no, my prick’s not getting anywhere near _that_.” 

“Whatever.” The other soldier sighs. “Just don’t pull it out around Ocelot’s kid….” 

His counterpart raises a brow in question. “Ocelot— I didn't know he had any children, especially not on base.” 

“You’re— well,” the soldier chuckles, “He’s got a few he oversees but this one’s different. You know all those killings happening lately? Pretty sure it’s him. _Eli_ is his name, I think.” He gossips idly. 

He snorts. “A killer-kid, huh? Well, if he’s been raised by Ocelot….” 

They both share a hearty laugh. 

Base has eyes and ears everywhere— cameras too— but apparently not where readily needed. In most cases, it’s just a few guards watching the traffic along bridges between platforms or making sure nobody gets stir-crazy on the medbay and starts throwing punches. 

This platform is no different. For most hours of the day, it’s scarcely patrolled. Just a duo of soldiers on site and maybe a straggler or two walking back from their shift’s end, never more than a couple of souls at a time. 

It’s a big platform. Plenty of area to gossip absentmindedly about the boss’ new pet wolf— or dog, depending on who you ask— or Dr. Emmerich’s latest mechanical excursions and failures, or even the latest batch of killings by a, thus far, unidentified murderer. Though rumored child-serial killer. One can only ponder. 

The soldier thuds a knuckle against his partner’s shoulder and begins to split off, away from his post. “I’m gonna catch a smoke real quick.” 

“Don’t let yourself get killed!” He shouts. 

His partner laughs, giving him the finger as he disappears through one of the many winding corridors on the platform. 

It’s nothing but winding halls though none enclosed, everything out in the open, scented with sea air and completely silent besides waves far down below slapping against the metal stilts that support MB. The soldier slings his rifle over his shoulder as he walks, pulling out a cigarette and attempting to light it before the wind catches. He turns a corner with one dangling between his lips and suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, dropping it. 

He squints at something small and insignificant in his path, a figure minute enough to overlook though _very_ out of place in this instance. “Hey—“ he shouts, “You can’t be here!

Blue eyes gaze up at him, half-lidded and filled with a craving the soldier can’t quite define but overlooks. 

“Oh, you're… you’re just a kid.” He lowers his fingers from his service weapon reflexively, almost going so far as to bend a knee to his short company though standing tall instead, remembering his duty. He clears his throat. “Are you lost? Someone must’ve dropped you off, huh… well, you can’t be here.” He repeats. 

With little fists balled by his side, the kid takes a step back almost as if to flee, to ensue a chase. But he isn’t running. _Luring_. “I’ll go wherever I please.” The accent and accompanying assertiveness earns a blink of surprise. 

The soldier steps towards him, instinctively in pursuit-mode, though not quite chasing, and speaks a tad more sternly. “That’s real cute, kid, but you’ve gotta go. It’s dangerous for someone as young as you to be left unattended.” He strides forward and tries to grab this strange child’s arm but the kid jumps back, evading. What surprises him most is the squealing cry it earns. 

“No!” He puts his hands up defensively, palms flat in a placid gesture of vulnerability. His eyes suddenly glaze over, a complete switch from his demeanor just moments ago. “I don’t… want to go back.” He near-whispers. “Please don’t make me go back.” He looks up at the soldier pleadingly. 

The soldier’s breath hitches. The kid’s cute, truly scared. He chuckles and steps closer once again, reaching out rather than to grab. “Back where? I’ll take you somewhere safe, just come with me—“

“You can’t make me!” He shouts, squeakier than he was before. “You don’t know what it’s like… I’m by myself and my parents aren’t here and I’m so _scared_ of being alone. B-But I won’t go back there!” He looks down to his feet and a few blond strands fall over his glossy eyes, brushing against high cheekbones flushed with what can only be perceived as embarrassment, maybe a tantalizing fear. He grabs his arm shyly and looks back up at the soldier, his lips a soft pout as he rocks on his heels. “Will you take care of me, mister?” He asks, shaky and unsure. 

The soldier’s eyes are wide, dazzled and unsure. He clears his throat with an ‘ahem’ and looks around, pulling at his collar. _The kid’s cute, really, really cute…_ “Sure, I’ll… I suppose you don’t have to go anywhere. At least not—“ he looks the kid up and down, eyeing his pale, porcelain skin and astonishing features, _pretty as a girl_. He gulps. “Not right away.” He finishes. 

The kid’s face had gone from stern to pliant, ever shifting to his company’s words and leashed to that anticipated complacency or defiance, clearly hitched on attaining the former with how he steps back and trembles visibly, receding into himself enough to be seen as meek little prey. Though, now he isn’t moving, instead batting his surprisingly _long_ lashes and casting an unfortunately doe-eyed look up at the soldier. 

The soldier bends a knee down to his new company’s level, slowly reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

A frown passes over the kid’s features for a split second though it's quickly replaced with something softer, _forced_ , though the soldier won’t notice. He lets his shoulder be gripped, kneaded and felt, appreciated like soft velvet. When a wandering finger slides against his bare clavicle, grazing up his neck and along the underside of his jaw, he flinches, though doesn’t pull away. He even gives a quick smile, a flash of teeth, much to the soldier’s delight. 

“We can just… stay here for a while.” The soldier says, a tad breathless. “I’m sure that’s better than wherever you were before?” He enunciates his words with a careful press of his hand against the thick, green coat the kid’s wearing. He tugs it to the side and trails along his soft skin, down to his stomach, earning a subtle shudder from the child. It’s soft and pudgy along the edges, baby fat yielding a slight overhang but nothing that can’t be appreciated. _Soft, malleable_ , something flat and hard around the abs but undeveloped everywhere else, the places where it _matters_. 

The kid nods in quick agreement, his plush lips parting with a sigh as a hand curves around his thin waist and massages his lower back, pulling him closer. “I trust you.” He squeaks out, meek still, despite his apparent comfort with this complete stranger. 

The soldier thinks it odd that he’d be here on his own, conveniently where no two or more people could find him but dressed and unscathed, no signs of abuse besides a few knicks and faded scrapes along his short torso. He’s clearly not been abandoned but wandered. How else would he find his way here completely unnoticed? Filing away complaints and worries, though, the soldier pulls him in close.   
He swallows unsurely as he uses his other hand to snag two fingers beneath the waistband of the kid’s shorts, pulling his clearly _frail_ hips forward and marveling at how much give he’s immediately offered. 

A pair of little hands brace themselves against the soldier’s chest as blue eyes peer down to his own crotch, being tugged at. They both merely watch his hands move. 

Slow work is made of his kidshorts as they’re tugged away from jutting hip bones, even more unsure, practically tripping over himself as he unzips and palms. The kid’s so _small_ , hardly anything there to feel or grope but perfectly inexperienced enough to earn a high-pitched whine. _He’s probably never been touched like this by anyone…_ the soldier almost wants to ask but decides against it. He’d rather assume he’s this kid’s first rather than anyone else. He definitely acts like he knows what’s happening but maybe he’s just confused. Neither thoughts are particularly comforting… or lacking in guilt, so he just brushes them off and works on getting this treat naked. 

Tiny hands begin to wander on _his_ body too. They grip flimsily at his fatigues and pull at the fastened loop of his belt, wandering along his holster. As if the kid can read his mind, he speaks lowly, “You're the only man that’s ever touched me like this….” It’s an admission he can’t possibly know to be false. 

The soldier’s breath hitches. He stammers. “Well— you know, I— I’m glad to—“ he’s suddenly cut off, thrust flat on his back before he can quite register how he got there. And the kid’s straddling his waist expertly. 

There’s even a gun to his forehead— _his_ gun, the one that seconds ago was nestled in his holster— as the kid presses the barrel hard against his face. The kid sneers down at him, baring his teeth and hissing. “You adults are all the same.” He says bitterly. “Stupid and evil, you’re no more than monsters.” 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ “Jesus, no, I— I was just trying to help!” He sticks his palms up in an effort to yield but the kid clearly isn’t satisfied. “I was just— wait, you’re….” He scans the child on top of him and tries to think of where he’s seen him before… and then it finally clicks now that he’s no longer in a trance. “You’re Ocelot’s new pet. _Eli_ —“ 

Eli grabs the pistol by its barrel and strikes the soldier’s face with the butt end, surprisingly hard enough to have him dizzy and confused for a moment. “That’s not my name!” He screams. Little specks of spit fly as he pulls his arm back and strikes again, and then again, screaming of his _real_ title or other. 

The soldier sputters and blocks his face with his arms. “You’re crazy— I was just trying to help! You asked me to!” 

The kid’s small enough that he’s probably relied on his speed and agility to get this far, if not the gullibleness of others. The worst part is that the soldier could definitely push him off, but at what cost? He’s Ocelot’s property… if anything, he’s thankful it didn’t go any further. Though the screaming protests in his face have him feeling less than grateful at this very moment. 

Eli takes a shaky, unhinged breath and licks his lips. “You grown-ups have no sense… I could run this place better than you _ever_ could!” As an odd way to solidify his statement, Eli grinds his hips down against the soldier’s crotch. It’s rather uncoordinated but just enough to elicit a breathy sigh. “See? You’re filthy. I’ve seen what you do in the jungle when no one’s around… to kids like me!” 

The soldier— completely dazed and out of it from simultaneous blueballs, head trauma, and this proper mindfuck he’s being subjected to— shakes his head in defiance. He covers his face with one hand, still pleading. “No, I— you’re wrong, kid. I’m not a bad guy—“

Eli grinds his little hips downward and the soldier’s hands reflexively grab his waist, pressing himself up against the heat of his crotch. “Look at you.” Eli spits. “I was dignified on my own. I had my own men who wanted to do whatever I said! And then you and my father had to come and mess it all up with you’re— you’re fucking arse-quality guns.” His thighs squeeze around the soldier’s waist, digging in deep and rutting against the noticeable bulge poking his inner leg. “I was a king! A goddamn king! You didn’t have any right to bring me here!” 

The soldier groans and nearly tosses Eli off of him on accident just trying to thrust up against his tiny ass. He shakes his head once again, still denying and more so to stifle his own guilt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I was just— I couldn’t help it.” 

Eli knows he doesn’t understand his point, but the sight of him still acting on what Eli’s always seen adults to want, to try for endlessly, makes him even angrier. “Is this what you want?” He shouts, grabbing the soldier’s large hand and pressing it against his bare chest and the tiny pec that’s always on display. “Or is one child not enough?” He seldom refers to himself as a ‘ _child_ ’ but in this instance, it’s needed to get his point across. The soldier’s hand squeezes, exactly as Eli anticipated. He scoffs, his face twisting in disgust. “You and my father are disgusting, all of you men here. I’ll build a bigger base one day— one that’s under my command where _I_ choose who gets to be in charge! There won’t be scum like you lot around ever, not if I have any say—“

The soldier saw his chance during the kid’s futile little monologue and took it, opting not to hurt him exactly but to incapacitate. He flipped Eli over, now pinning him with both hands— both of them still joined at the waist though. He sighs with relief having knocked the gun out of Eli’s grip, finally with the upper-hand. “Stop struggling!” He says as Eli writhes underneath him. “Seriously, I don’t want to hurt you—“ 

“Give me the gun back!” Eli shouts, thrashing his head. “I want it back! I need it!” 

“Why do you— what’s happened to you, kid?” Worry flashes across his face at this clearly manic child. “You can’t have my gun.” He says sternly. He eyes it to make sure it’s thoroughly out of reach— knocked a few feet away, thankfully. He pins both of Eli’s hands down with one of his and curses when little nails dig into his palms. 

Eli tries his best to thrust up against the soldier’s lap but the weight on top of him is too much, even for his surprising strength. He screams in frustration and then whines as he finally realizes he’s been overpowered. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you! You _and_ my father!” 

The soldier shakes his head, muttering. “You're some special kind of fucked up….” He reaches for the radio on his waistband. “I’m done playing games with you. I’m calling someone in to take you back to wherever it is you _should_ be.” He clicks the button and static comes through. 

What the receiving end hears, though, is a washed-over gurgling, distant and quiet enough to mark off as faulty feedback. 

Eli’s suddenly gone quiet as he stares up at the soldier, who’s got a hand around his head and a knife to his throat, slitting ear-to-ear. “No!” He shouts again, this time for someone else. Someone much more familiar than some wandering soldier. 

Spurts of blood fly and little specks pepper Eli’s face in some gruesome spray of gore, flecks of skin falling on his bare chest. He begins to wriggle, trying his best to slip out before the man above him _completely_ dies, fearing himself to be next. As the body goes limp and falls to the side, he makes some headway. He’s crouching with his shaky hands on the discarded gun before anyone can stop him. 

“Eli,” a southern drawl begins to chide, “Drop the gun.” 

Eli shakes his head. “No way, old man.” 

Ocelot sighs and flings the blood off of his knife, leaning down and wiping the blade on the pant leg of his victim— the soldier Eli’d been attacking. 

“I’m cutting you off.” He says flatly, gesturing to the limp body stewing in its own blood. “No more of this— whatever you want to call it. It’s immature, not to mention costly.” He begins towards Eli. 

“Stop!” Eli shouts, gripping the gun with both hands and pointing it at Ocelot’s chest. “I’ll- I’ll shoot!” 

Ocelot stops. He quirks a brow in the most deflated expression of amusement he can muster. “Will you?”

When Eli doesn’t, he just shakes his head and frowns. He grabs the gun from Eli’s grip and clicks the safety on, tossing it to the heap of dead soldier beside them. “You're out of line this time, Eli. I’m tired of saving you like you’re some damsel in distress.” To Eli’s clear look of disgust at the insinuation, Ocelot sighs and continues. “Don’t give me that. This is the last time you’ll pull this kind of immature stunt. I’m taking you back where you belong— where you’ll _stay_.” 

Eli glares up at him with a pouty frown. “I never asked you to save me, you know! I had it under control, I just…” He looks down at his feet, “You're the _exact same_ as the rest.” He mutters. 

“You’re doing this for attention, Eli.” Ocelot states. “It was aggravating at first but now it’s just downright ridiculous. I’m tired of bailing you out.” 

“ _You_ killed them, not me!” Eli insists. He points to the body with a small finger. “I didn’t ask you to kill them so brutally. It was _you_ that lost it and killed all of those men. Even though I could’ve handled them….” 

Ocelot rolls his eyes and grabs Eli by the shoulder. He shakes him, gripping his bony flesh hard enough to bruise. “Do you have any idea where you’d be if I hadn’t stopped you? There would be a manhunt on base and you’d be persecuted for plotting to kill your father. You’re pretty goddamn childish—“ 

“I’m not a child—!” 

“Eli.” Ocelot warns. When the kid’s peering up at him with bug-eyes, welling with frustrated tears although silent, he speaks. “This stops now. You’re coming back to the barracks with me. End of discussion.” 

Ocelot pulls him by his coat collar towards the bridge. He turns back towards Eli over his shoulder. “And put on a frightened face, I know you’re good at faking _those_. Miller needs a sob-story about all of this so save up your crocodile tears for later.” He continues taking long strides but Eli stops, pulling his sleeve enough to bring him to a halt. 

He looks around for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Why _did_ you kill them like… like _that_?” He asks. 

Ocelot blinks at him before sighing. “You’re not public property. You can’t keep making hebephiles out of my men, either.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question!” 

There was a time— around two or so weeks ago, give or take— in which Ocelot thought this all pretty amusing. This little game of cat-and-mouse between him and the kid, Eli galavanting where he shouldn’t, _tempting_ who he shouldn’t, all for attention and advancement in this grand plan of his, was something of a hobby. Not so sexually gratifying as it was entertaining, but there was much of the former in excess too. It’s not often you get to watch a child vying for your attention like that, especially not one like Eli. Ocelot thought it cute if not worrisome how close he was actually getting to obtaining weapons, to finishing his half-baked plan of exacting some kind of revenge on his not-so-legitimate father, as well as wrapping Ocelot around his finger with some perceived jealousy, as if _Eli_ could do that. _Maybe he could, just a little…._

It’s hard to keep a kid around on base, under your thumb especially, when word gets out that he’s actively plotting to kill everyone’s favorite boss. So Ocelot did what anyone in his shoes would— he covered up what he couldn’t convince to look the other way. That meant killing those he knew would talk. 

Nothing he hasn’t done before, he’ll say that, but it earned a stressed out Miller and a boss just asking for the paperwork and commotion to go away, so to say that it became more pain than what it’s worth would be an understatement. It was merely a bonus that he got to watch Eli struggle out of particularly _persistent_ soldier’s grips for a time like some opportunistic voyeur, but that too overstayed its welcome. 

Men talk about ‘ _Ocelot’s kids_ ’ and they’re right, he has a few. But there’s only one he’s invested in, for the long-haul, no doubt. He could only watch it get felt up so many times before his patience fled and pitiful jealousy got the better of him.

Ocelot yanks Eli by the wrist until he starts waking. “I’d advise you to keep your mouth shut, Eli.” He warns. He’ll drag him all the way back to Kaz’ office to deliver whatever sob story he manages to halfway-concoct on the way there if he has to, but he isn’t about to stand here and defend himself to some entitled brat. 

Eli gives in. He’s silent, as much as Ocelot commands. All the way back to Kaz’ office. 

  
“I… see. So this wasn’t a case of misplaced accusations but wrongfully-trusted men.” _That’s one way to put it._ “I’ll have the body collected.” Kaz’ face is riddled with confusion and disgust, but overall astonishment. The fact that his men could be _pedophiles_ , of all things, is something he isn’t ready to process just yet. And to attack a young, innocent boy… perhaps he got Eli all wrong. Even he doesn’t know how much of an understatement that is. “I’ll keep this under wraps but the boss has to know.” He says. “This is a very unfortunate situation and I— I’ll see to it that nothing like this happens again.” 

Kaz stands from his desk and grunts when the pressure of his crutch digs into his armpit. He plants himself in front of Eli and Ocelot, who plead their case— revealing that Eli _was_ just defending himself and that the blame was all on the soldiers— and asked that everything be left as is. 

He looks down at Eli who’s eyes haven’t strayed from the floor the entire time. “Eli,” Kaz begins, entirely missing the flinch of rage the kid gives hidden just beneath the surface, “I’m sorry this has happened. I'm sorry that you— whatever you did, was necessary.” He won’t address Eli as a child with something so spineless as a coddling voice, but he’ll convey his apologies. The same way he would for a man. “If you’d like a personal guard for a while, I understand. I’ll make the arrangements myself—“

“Yes!” Eli shouts. He clears his throat, lowering his voice after realizing his own suspicious enthusiasm. “I want… guards with me. The kind with guns. All the time.” 

Ocelot turns his head away just to roll his eyes, meanwhile Kaz nods sympathetically. “I understand.” He says. 

“It would be safer if I stuck with him instead.” Ocelot suggests. “You can’t say for sure which of your men will continue to exhibit behavior like what we’ve seen this past month. At least you know that I’m informed on the situation.” He has to hide a smirk feeling Eli’s rage bubbling up, practically radiating off of his tiny body. 

Kaz considers it for a moment but ultimately consults with Eli. “Is this what you want, Eli?” 

Ocelot speaks up before he can. “Of course It is.” He takes a step closer to Eli and places a hand on his shoulder, caring as ever. “I’ll take good care of him.” 

Kaz looks between them— Eli’s frown and pursed little lips in a permanent pout, to Ocelot and his trust-earning smile— and sighs. “Alright then, I’m just glad this is over. But you do know you’ll have to take temporary leave from your usual duties?” To Ocelot’s nod and assurance, he gestures to Eli. “I don’t want you leaving his side. Come to Ocelot or me if there’s ever anything wrong, if anyone tries to… well, you understand.” 

“Mhm.” Eli grunts. He turns his head away and crosses his arms. Even _he_ knows it’s best he keeps his mouth shut. 

“That settles it then.” Kaz nods to Ocelot, a final gesture to conclude this very unfortunate meeting. “You two should head back to— I’m assuming your personal quarters. For now, at least?” 

Ocelot turns around with his hand still on Eli’s shoulder, starting off towards the door, Eli in step behind him. “Of course. Be seeing you, Miller.” All willingness to entertain this pitiful attempt at cordiality having left him, he squeezes Eli’s shoulder and pulls the door open for them both to step out. The last thing he says is, “I’ll make sure to keep him safe.” 

Finally alone, Kaz sighs, taking off his shades and sitting back down at his desk. There’s a sea of files he’s been worrying over for _weeks_ in front of him and now he’s supposed to just… what, throw them away? He supposes it’s better than stressing, and far better than the case going unsolved. He looks from the files to the door, and frowns. “I’m sure you will, Ocelot.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Eli rapes too, I’ve seen it!
> 
> -random DD soldier


End file.
